The Closure
by Rose Stetson
Summary: Maxon and America take on the unenviable task of sorting through King Clarkson and Queen Amberly's personal possessions.


I held Maxon's uninjured hand as we walked into the parlor which had been set aside for our family use. It felt strange and exhilarating to say that as we'd only been engaged for a few days, but it had become a necessity with all of the change which had come in that time. We needed a place where we could gather with Maxon's family as the country mourned their fallen leaders.

"I'm going to take my cues from you," I murmured as we walked in.

He nodded, his expression serious.

My heart ached for him. His parents' stately funeral had been broadcast to the nation just yesterday. Today, the day had been cleared of Maxon's kingly duties and responsibilities so that we could sort through King Clarkson's and Queen Amberly's personal possessions.

"I talked to Aunt Adele," he said as we walked into the parlor. "She says she wants us to have first pick of what mementos we choose and then she'll come by."

I squeezed his hand and turned a supportive smile toward him.

"Was it like this with your family?" he asked as he surveyed the room, filled with furniture pieces from both the King's and Queen's suites. "Shifts as you claim what you want to remember your parents by?"

I imagined that everything had been left as close to untouched as possible while removing the items as Maxon and I began the process of redecorating the suites to our own tastes.

I shook my head. "The adult children got letters from Dad. He'd known about the family history of heart disease, and he'd wanted to be prepared. He gave us his parting advice, his love, and I know he gave Kota the house."

Maxon's eyebrows shot up. "Your dad gave your most successful sibling the house?"

"I don't know for sure," I admitted as I wrapped my arms around my fiance's strong bicep. "But I think he rewrote Kota's letter after Halloween."

Maxon's brow furrowed for a moment before he smiled. "Because he and I had talked, you mean?"

I nodded, a light blush coloring my cheeks as I remembered watching them through the window in Halloween night. I'd thought Maxon had been explaining to my dad why he had to send me home. In reality, Dad had admitted how impressed he had been by Maxon, and Maxon had asked for my father's blessing to propose to me.

"You're probably right." He chuckled as he thought back the last few months. "I did tell your dad I'd help your family move here to Angeles if they wanted."

That confirmed my suspicions. "I think he gave Kota the house to help him remember where he came from." I sighed. "But I think it will be a long time before he actually figures out that that's a gift and not a burden."

Maxon leaned in and kissed my temple. I closed my eyes as I savored the feeling of his lips on my skin. "I'm sorry," he murmured with his breath whispering against my ear. "I know how close you were to him."

Tears stung my eyes. In a way, it had hurt worse in the last few days to realize that I would never quite feel the same way about Kota as I had as a girl than to process the fact that I would never see my father again.

"He chose position over people," I said with a sigh. "I know that someday he'll regret it, but I can't keep excusing his behavior until he does."

Maxon nodded slowly.

I knew that the whole concept of sibling squabbles was a little over his head, and I didn't want to burden him any longer with mine. "Where do you want to start?"

He scanned the room before his eye fell on a single item. At its sight, he stiffened. "Take that and burn it," he ordered as a flurry of butlers and maids hurried to identify the item which he had pointed out.

My brow furrowed until one of the maids raised an antique mahogany cane with an intricately crafted, feathered gold handle. Just the sight of it made me want to shudder as I realized with sickening clarity what this had likely been used for.

Marlee and Carter had been caned with rods soaked in water for extra effect. I doubted the King could use such torture devices on his son without provoking more questions than he cared to instigate.

An antique cane which might have been either a gift from an ally or an heirloom from a royal ancestor would have looked far less out of place and inflicted nearly the same kind of damage.

"Maxon," I whispered.

He threw a sharp look in my direction, and I winced. "I'm not trying to change your mind," I promised. "I just," I exhaled as the maid hurried out the door.

"Wait," he said as he called back to her.

She hesitated, her eyes wide as Maxon motioned for her to return. She curtsied as she presented the cane back to him. "Your Majesty."

Maxon swallowed as he reached out for the cane. His hand trembled a moment before he caught hold of it.

I watched him carefully as he let go of my hand. Then, in a swift motion, he grabbed hold of the cane with both hands and brought it down on his knee.

"Maxon!" I gasped, the violent shock of the moment catching me entirely by surprise.

There was an echoing crack as the cane splintered in two.

I watched the eyes of the maids and butlers around us. Almost all of their eyes had widened considerably, but Maxon merely folded the wooden cane so that each half sat beside the other. He calmly put them back in the hands of the maid in front of him. "If you would be so kind as to put that in my fireplace, I'll take care of burning it myself."

She bobbed her head two times in quick succession before she stood and hurried from the room, taking the offending cane away.

I looked at Maxon, catching a wince he didn't mean for me to see as he rubbed his chest where the bullet had lodged itself only a few days earlier.

"If you wouldn't mind giving us the room?" I asked, turning to the servants who dotted the parlor. "We'll notify the guards outside if we need anything."

Maxon harrumphed like an old man, and I wasn't sure if it was his bullet wound or his pride which was smarting at the moment.

I offered smiles and nods of encouragement to the ladies and gentlemen who slowly made their way out the door.

"You didn't have to do that," Maxon groaned as he sat in one of the chairs and pressed his hand to his chest again.

"Never mind about that," I said as I knelt in front of him and opened the front of his shirt. The white bandage on his chest bore a growing red stain. "I think we need to get you to the hospital wing."

"That's twice you've taken my shirt off," he said with a teasing smile. "And both times, I was bleeding. Any chance we can do that some time when I'm not in agony?"

I rolled my eyes. "You probably popped some stitches. Can you save your teasing for a time when I'm not worried you're going to bleed out again?"

He grasped the hand I still pressed to his chest and brought it up so he could kiss the inside of my palm. "I'm fine, America."

The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach didn't agree though I tried to look up at him with a smile. It faltered under the weight of my worry.

"I don't care if they have to stitch me back up," he admitted with a sigh. "I just—I had—"

I nodded as I let my gaze fall back to his chest. The red stain seemed a little more contained than it had seemed initially. Maybe he'd only popped a couple of stitches and not all of them. "I understand. You had to break his hold on you, literally and metaphorically."

"Is that what was going on?" he asked. I looked back up at him to find his teasing smile playing on his lips. "I thought I was just doing to the cane what I wish I could have done to my father."

I couldn't help myself. In that moment, I chuckled as I shook my head. "It's too hot for a fire, even in December."

"You're not wrong," he said with a grimace as he rotated his arm. It was almost physically painful for me to watch. "But I think I need to do that part too."

"I can understand that," I admitted as he stood.

He offered me his uninjured hand to help me stand, and I accepted the help. "Can I offer you a compromise?"

I raised my eyebrows, half interested in his proposal and half ready to argue that a compromise would do no good if he didn't take care of himself.

"I'll go to the hospital wing if the bleeding gets any worse than this." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen which he used to outline the red stain on his white bandage. "And you'll let me stay and do this if it stays inside the line."

I looked at the bandage and then up at his hopeful eyes. "One drop outside the line and we're headed for the hospital wing?" I asked, studying him.

"On my honor," he promised, leaning in toward me to show his sincerity.

I hesitated for a moment before I nodded. "All right. But you have to remove the shirt so you can't hide."

He grinned. "Make me."

I blushed as I reached over and began slowly unfastening the rest of the buttons of his shirt. "You know, I envisioned doing this again, but under very different circumstances."

I began to press the shirt off of his shoulders and down his sculpted arms, but he pressed a hand to mine. "You like to compromise?" he murmured, his eyes dark and vulnerable.

I nodded slowly.

"I'll leave the shirt unbuttoned, but don't take it off, okay?"

I thought of the cane which was undoubtedly lying in the fireplace and waiting for its final act, to bring closure to a painful chapter in my Maxon's life. I thought of the dozens of haphazardly crossed scars on his back and how he had gotten them.

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes as I did so.

The thought of young Maxon enduring this horror for the first time nearly undid me. He hadn't shared with me the specifics yet, but I imagined it was only a matter of time before a nightmare or a memory would reveal it. As heartbreaking as it was to realize now that the last time he had been caned by his father had been for me, it was doubly more painful to think of how young Maxon might have been when these scars had first begun to accumulate on his back.

He took me by the hand and led me away from his father's possessions. "I don't really want to think about Clarkson right now," he said as he allowed a small smile to drift onto his lips. "Why don't we do something a little happier, hm?"

"What did you have in mind?" I asked as he stopped in front of a delicately crafted wooden vanity with three mirrors which looked almost like they could fold in on themselves to provide a more complete view of its mistress.

"This," he said as he opened one of the drawers to the side, "is where my mother kept her jewelry."

It astounded me that Queen Amberly's jewelry wasn't in some safe somewhere.

I guess that the question was on my lips because Maxon shook his head with a small half-smile. "This is where she put her personal, everyday pieces. The more expensive, show-stopping crown jewels are in a safe."

I nodded my understanding.

He reached into the drawer and pulled out an understated and yet stunning wooden box. He placed it on the vanity and lifted the lid.

A haunting melody filled the room, and I gasped in awe. The music was as light as a summer's breeze and as heartbreaking as a last kiss.

He smiled. "My mother may not have been a musician, but she had good taste in music."

As the music ended, he gently motioned toward the box. "I think it was my mother's intent to pass on some heirloom to whomever I chose. She would want you to choose anything you like."

"Maxon, I'm not—" I began.

"I know you're not really one for jewelry, but maybe there's something of my mother's that you'd like to keep, even just to pass to one of our daughters one day."

The promise shining in his eyes at that moment made me nod in agreement. I didn't have the heart to tell him that we might not have any daughters. Nor could I admit that we could simply store his mother's whole jewelry box in the safe with the crown jewels until then.

Besides, I had a sneaking feeling that Maxon was right. It only made sense that Queen Amberly had planned a gift for her future daughter-in-law but had died too soon to be able to present it.

I reached into the box, expecting to find a smattering of pieces of jewelry, but instead I found a neatly organized row of envelopes. I cocked my head and leaned in to reach for each envelope.

In Queen Amberly's neat handwriting, I could see little reminders of what was inside each envelope. I grinned as I read one of the first ones I pulled out. _Mother's Day gift from Maxon._

I looked over at Maxon whose sad smile grew as I retrieved a simple set of diamond stud earrings.

"I was seven, and I just knew that you gave a woman jewelry if she was special," he said with a chuckle.

"They're beautiful," I whispered as I reached out for his hand.

"Sometimes, when there wasn't much going on in the palace, she'd wear them, and we'd have tea in the Women's Room," he said, his gaze distant.

I rubbed his arm as I carefully returned the earrings to their rightful envelope.

"America?" Maxon asked as I set the envelope back in the jewelry box.

"Hm?"

"Is there a reason that one of these envelopes has your name on it?" he asked as he pointed to the very next envelope.

I blinked as I stared at it. There it was, my name America Singer, as clear as day in the Queen's bright but stunning penmanship.

"Not that I'm aware of," I admitted softly.

Maxon's lip turned upward in a small smile. "Maybe we were right, and she had a gift ready for her future daughter-in-law."

I turned my attention from the envelope with my name on it to all of the rest of the envelopes. "No. There isn't anything here for anyone else. Not Kriss. Not Elise. Not Celeste. Just me."

Maxon's lips were near my ear. "I think she probably could tell you were my favorite."

I remembered our conversation when we'd been photographed by Celeste in the women's room. I still cherished her words that if things turned out the way she thought they would, "Mom" would be just fine.

But something about being so bold as to write my name on an envelope for an heirloom jewelry piece when her own husband could see nothing better than to try and evict me from the competition felt too out of character for her.

"I don't think that's what this is," I said with a shake of my head. "I realize I don't know your mother as well as you do, but I don't think she would take a chance that one piece of jewelry would work for any of your potential brides. Nor do I think she wouldn't have set aside something for each one of us in the event we were selected."

Maxon's brow furrowed. "So what do you think this is about?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea."

My heart pounded loudly in my chest as I carefully opened the envelope. I slid the contents into the palm of my hand and gasped.

It was so familiar and yet so unexpected that I almost couldn't speak.

"How—?"

Maxon's dumbfounded question echoed my own sentiments as the tears welled up in my eyes.

There, in the palm of my hand, was the Songbird necklace I had received from my father and given to the middle-aged alleged thief during the Convicting ceremony. With it, he had paid his debt to the King. I still wasn't sure of how that had all played out for him, but I hoped that the King's death had put a stop to whatever backlash he had been set to face with my defiance of the King's wishes.

My fingers trembled as I held the necklace in my hands.

Maxon took the envelope from me, and I hardly noticed. In one simple act of kindness, Queen Amberly had returned to me both a treasured heirloom from my father and every happy moment I had ever spent with her.

It was the most wonderful belated Christmas and engagement present I could possibly have ever received. Especially in light of how much we'd lost since then.

"There's a note," he said as he reached into the envelope and pulled out a luxuriously thick piece of parchment.

He handed it to me, and opened it.

"Dear America," I read aloud, my voice choking with emotion. "I know that the Convicting was terribly difficult for you in many ways. I only ask your forgiveness that I contributed in any way to its harshness."

I clutched my father's necklace to my chest as the lump in my throat grew too large to fight any longer. I waved the note in Maxon's direction as the tears blurred my vision.

He wrapped one of his hands over mine as he continued. "I wanted to commend you on the dignity with which you carried yourself. Though I may worry about how your subjects may respond to your giving your own possessions to protect a criminal, I cannot deny how graciously and justly you dealt with him."

Maxon turned a smile to me, and I could see the moisture in his eyes as well. He kissed my temple before he continued.

"I may have my suspicions about who Maxon will choose, but no matter what, I want you to know that you have grown into a stunningly beautiful woman over your time here in the palace. You are self-assured and confident while remembering where you come from. You have a vision for this country which may frighten some but will inspire many. No matter what happens with Maxon's choice, I hope that you will cultivate this in your future."

A small sob erupted from my throat, and I turned my face to Maxon's strong shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me, hesitating only slightly when the pain from his injury resurfaced.

He kissed the top of my head. "Shall I continue, darling?" he whispered softly. "It's almost finished."

I nodded quickly, tasting the salt water on my lips as my tears leaked out of my eyes and over my cheeks.

"Whether you find yourself a princess or a patriot, I think it's important that you not lose sight of who you are. So I return this symbol to you. The symbol of who you were before you came. The symbol of all those who came before you. The symbol of what you have become to those around you now. No matter what, don't stop singing, America. Never let anyone stop you from singing."

I clung to Maxon, and he held me tightly. I could feel my hair getting damp, and I realized that Maxon was shedding the tears he'd managed somehow to hold inside him at the death of his beloved mother.

"It's funny how even from the grave, she can say just the right thing," he managed, his voice thick.

I looked up into his eyes as he attempted to wipe the tears on the sleeve of his shirt.

"She promised me that she would see my choice through my eyes, and not even through her own," he said slowly. "And it sometimes infuriated me that she wouldn't say anything, wouldn't even subtly signal that she agreed with me when my father was ranting on about making the right choice."

I swallowed, knowing that I had made his fight all the harder with everything I had done to anger Clarkson.

He smiled as he held my face in his hands. "I never got a chance to ask her what she thought of my choice, never got a chance to ask her what she thought I saw in you."

I smiled as he reached his thumbs to my cheeks and gently brushed away the tears from my face.

"The closest I ever got was that picture of you and my mother together in the Women's Room," he said with a shake of his head. "And I never thought I'd ever be truly grateful to Celeste for anything, but I really am grateful to her for that photo."

I nodded in complete agreement.

"She told me I could call her Mom," I whispered as I looked up into his face. "Right before that photo was taken, she told me I could call her Mom if you chose me."

He laughed as he pulled me in to hug him closer. I won another kiss on the top of my head as my ear was pressed to his chest to feel the beating of his heart. The slight spice of his aftershave filled my nostrils, and I felt so safe and loved in that moment that I almost wondered if the rest of the world had melted away.

"She must have liked you a great deal," he said as he reached into my hand for the necklace. "Because if I know my father, he wouldn't have parted with this easily. It would have been a trophy for him, some sign that he hadn't lost entirely on the day of the Convicting."

His fingers fumbled with the clasp as I gathered my hair in my hand and swept it over my shoulder. In a moment, my father's necklace was back around my neck as if it had never left.

"There." His fingers lingered on the skin of my neck before he leaned down and kissed the space just above the clasp. "Back where it belongs."

"Maxon," I breathed as I turned back to face him. "Are you saying that you think your mother stood up to your father about this necklace?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she convinced him that she wanted it, and he gave it to her. Maybe she just took it when enough time had passed that he didn't much care. All I know is that it's in your hands because she took a stand, and that makes me even prouder to have been her son."

The hand which had been at the back of my neck was now at my shoulder, and I reached for it, bringing it to my lips as I kissed his knuckles. "As wonderful as this gift is, Maxon," I whispered as I looked back up at him. "I want you to know that I would have given it up a thousand times over if that was the price for us to have this life that we're starting together."

"And I would have taken a thousand beatings for you if that was what my father required of me for choosing you," he murmured as he leaned down for another kiss.

The kiss was sweet and soft, his lips warm and tender and pliable against mine. I wanted to stay in that moment forever before he groaned against my lips.

My eyes opened immediately, It didn't take me long to follow Maxon's hand to his chest where the bandage's blood stain grew outside the boundary of the inky circle Maxon had drawn earlier.

"Come on," I said, my voice brooking no argument. "Let's get you to the hospital wing."

He didn't fight me. He just nodded and leaned his body on me for support, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.

Maybe it was the pain of this injury he wanted to forget he'd sustained. Maybe it was the compromise I'd elicited from his lips that we would go to the hospital wing if he continued bleeding. Maybe it was the feeling of peace I could see in his eyes from what I suspected to be just the right amount of closure for him in facing his parents' deaths.

In any case, as we walked down to the hospital wing, the stationed guards taking over supporting Maxon's weight. I couldn't help but feel like, somehow, it was all going to be all right.


End file.
